41 and counting

Read the rest of Eeyore's birthday story.



I'm not a big birthday person. I never have been. But I figure I may as well post something about it. I'm 41 as of today. A young 41. A very immature 41 at times. But still 41.
I'm OK with it until I think about it this way -- when my dad was 41, I turned 18. .... Holy shit.
I can't even imagine having an 18-year-old kid at this point in my life putting me through what I put my parents through. I couldn't do it. I'd be strangling the kid. Pops probably felt like doing that to me a couple of times. Once in particular that I can remember. But he never did.
Hell, Mama probably felt like doing it herself a few times. Especially the day they came back from a trip to North Carolina and walked into the house -- without any warning -- to see me with a Mohawk haircut. She looked at me, put her head down and walked on past. But she didn't yell or cuss or call me a frickin' idiot. At least not to my face. She didn't hug me at the moment either, but ....
Anyhow.


Here are a couple of pictures from past birthdays to share. This first one is from when I turned 5. That's me in the center behind the cake. The two things I want to know about this picture are 1) what in the hell is Laura G. (the red-headed girl in the front to the left) wearing and 2) is that blonde-haired girl to the right Cindy, Jan or Marsha Brady?


In this picture, I'm turning 6 and celebrating by declaring it wide white belt day. What the hell is that thing and why do my friend David and I both have one on?